


what is reality? (what is a lie?)

by Starrie_Wolf



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Fullbring arc, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Pre-Slash, UraIchi Week 2018, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14802041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: That summer spent swooping through Karakura Town, like one of the fabled angels of legend, feels like a fever dream now, the memories slipping through his fingers like quicksand the more he tries to cling onto them.[Sequel towhat is a gift? (what is a sacrifice?)by cywscross]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cywscross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/gifts).
  * Inspired by [what is a gift? (what is a sacrifice?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800455) by [cywscross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross). 



> This was not supposed to happen.
> 
> And yet, it did.

_“Your powers,” Kisuke clarifies. “I’m going to restore them. I don’t know how long it will take. I don’t even know how yet, but I already started researching for a way when you were still unconscious. I’ll find a way.”_

* * *

It’s been seventeen months.

Ichigo goes to class, goes to his part-time job, goes home.

Rinse, repeat.

That summer spent swooping through Karakura Town, like one of the fabled angels of legend, feels like a fever dream now, the memories slipping through his fingers like quicksand the more he tries to cling onto them.

He’s tried to ignore it, but sensations are more muted these days, he’s come to notice. It’s difficult to find a way to distract himself from the way his broken soul still keens at the loss, a high-pitched trill that reverberates in his ears when it gets too quiet at night.

He’s tried to forget about it, but that doesn’t work either, not when the people he used to call _nakama_ are still in his class.

He tries not to notice as his friends – former friends, he supposes – jump out of their seats as though electrocuted, throwing hasty excuses at the exasperated homeroom teacher. Tries not to notice them changing the subject every time he walks by, like they think being reiatsu-blind somehow also means he’s now deaf.

Most times, he succeeds.

* * *

“Want some ramen?” the creepy guy asks.

If his life is an animé, there’ll be dramatic music playing in the background right about now.

“No thanks,” Ichigo retorts with barely a thought. Two meetings in two days? He’s not naïve enough to believe in coincidences; no, people following him around tend to either want something from him, or they want to kill him.

Some crisis from Soul Society’s probably spilled over into the Transient World again, not that he would know. It’s not like there’s anyone around who’d keep him up-to-date on these things.

Or… well, there is, but Ichigo hasn’t dropped by the Shōten in months.

It’s not because of the way Jinta and Ururu peer at him from the doorway, eyes wide and dripping with pity. It’s not even because of the way Urahara-san moves around the room, unconsciously leaving a wide berth between himself and the wall like every shinigami Ichigo’s ever met, leaving room for his wings. He’s made his choice, he doesn’t regret it, and even if he’s not exactly living with it at least he’s surviving pretty well.

No, it’s the way Urahara-san can’t look at him without flinching, guilt stitched upon his face like visible scars, like Ichigo just stabbed his cat or something.

It’s not his fault, Ichigo’s tried to explain it to him a thousand times. Losing all of one’s shinigami powers is supposed to be final, and yet Urahara-san’s already managed to counter that once. But Encroachment won’t work again on an already fractured soul, and so he needs to invent a new way of restoring someone’s shinigami powers.

It takes time, Ichigo _understands_.

He’s still welcome to drop by the Shōten any time; Urahara-san will never turn him away. He’s just not sure he’s ready to face that expression again so soon, like the shopkeeper considers it a grievous insult that he hasn’t fulfilled his promise yet.

And somehow, the mysterious stranger whips out a photograph of Goat-Face, taken at an angle, as though he’s some kind of bloody secret agent. Ichigo can’t believe his audacity. So he’s not only stalking Ichigo, but his father as well?

This guy had better not have any photos of Yuzu or Karin stashed away.

… Urahara-san will probably help him hide the body.

* * *

After the excitement of their first customer, Unagiya resumes its daily monotony.

In the end, Ikumi-san kicks him out to go weed someone’s lawn. It’s hard, thankless work, but it’s a welcome change from sitting in the store, wondering what that stalker’s doing now. Even if he has to deal with some little old lady turning up her nose at his hair and muttering about delinquents under her breath.

The little old lady lives in a part of town Ichigo doesn’t frequent these days, but he still knows the way home, because –

Is that Karin?

Ichigo stops.

It’s definitely his sister, he confirms after a second, jogging down the street with a suspiciously full plastic bag in hand. There’s no other shops in the direction she came from, just some abandoned residences, and –

“Are you worried?”

It’s that ramen guy again.

Without waiting for an answer, Ramen Guy continues, “You must be, to see your kid sister frequenting the place of a suspicious guy like that.”

“There’s nothing suspicious about him!” Ichigo snaps back instinctively. “Urahara-san, he –”

“‘Saved all of us’, is that what you want to say?”

Ichigo shuts up.

“Just how much do you know about that Urahara, that makes you think you understand him?”

 _A lot more than you_ , Ichigo wants to retort, but he holds his tongue.

He… well, there’s a lot about Urahara-san that he doesn’t know, that has only come out in bits and pieces. Apparently he used to be a captain, and then Aizen framed him for Hollowfying the Visoreds. But all that happened a hundred years ago, and Ichigo doesn’t judge a man by the mistakes he’s made in some nebulous past.

“Here’s a word of advice,” Ramen Guy tells him. “Act now while you can. That is… if you want to protect your family.”

His eyes narrow. Is it a piece of advice, or a threat? Either way, if he’s spent so much time stalking Ichigo, Ichigo has no doubt that this Ramen Guy knows exactly how he’ll respond to something like that.

“Tell me your name. Who are you?”

A broad, smarmy smile spreads over Ramen Guy’s face. “Ginjō. Ginjō Kūgo.”

“Ginjō Kūgo,” Ichigo repeats. He’s certainly never heard the name before, but he knows who he can ask. “Don’t get the wrong idea, it’s not like I trust you or anything.”

“I guess not,” Ginjō concedes, surprisingly easily. “So I’ll hand this to you.”

Ichigo snags the flying card out of the air with one hand. It’s a stylised business card, he can tell with one glance, bold silver font on a black background.

_Welcome to our XCUTION._

Ichigo flips the card over to see a single number printed at the back.

“See you again.” Ginjō calls out, already turning away.

“What makes you think I’ll accept?” Ichigo asks, tucking the card away in his back pocket. He’ll just pretend to go home, and then double back. There’s a back door to Urahara Shōten that most people don’t use, over on a different side road, but the shinigami often do.

Did.

Maybe still do.

He looks up, just in time to catch Ginjō smirking at him knowingly. “Because you want to fly again, don’t you?”


	2. Chapter 2

His feet carry him home.

He’s not conscious of the decision, but by the time Ichigo’s properly cognizant of his surroundings again, he’s sitting at his desk, staring into space.

Ichigo flips the card over in his hands, sends it spinning over the back of his knuckles.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know what to do, because the thing is – Ginjō isn’t wrong.

_“You want to fly again, don’t you?”_

That’s not a question you ask a random stranger on the street. Ginjō must know exactly who Ichigo is, exactly _what_ he used to be, and the magnitude of what he’s offering.

Ichigo’s not stupid, he knows that nothing can possibly come for free, that he won’t be able to trust Ginjō as far as he can throw him – and yet.

And yet.

_“I can’t give you back your wings though. I would if I –”_

_“They’re yours. I gave them to you, so just take care of them, take care of yourself, and we’ll call us even.”_

Ichigo doesn’t regret those words, still believes in them wholeheartedly, but a tiny part of him can’t _help_ wondering.

Six months. Six months of skating through the clouds, unshackled to the ground; of feeling _whole_ like he’d never felt before his whole life.

“Kurosaki-kun? Kurosaki-kun!”

Inoue? What’s she doing at his house?

“Kurosaki-kun… has anything happened to you recently?”

Ichigo’s hand freezes on his mug.

That is a very odd question for her to be asking, all of a sudden.

“Not really, why do you ask?”

“Uh… my… intuition?”

Her intuition? Or her knowledge that there’s a new threat to Soul Society?

“For example, suppose you were being followed around by some weirdo…”

“Me? Being followed around?” Yeah, all his troubles seem to start that way, don’t they? Getting followed around by first Rukia, and then Hirako, and then Grimmjow… and now Ginjō, he supposes. “Being drawn into stuff, maybe,” he has to correct her. “Being followed around seems like something that happens to you a lot more.”

He’s missed this. The easy camaraderie, the banter, the teasing. He hasn’t had the chance to talk to them for so long, with Hollows and the next shinigami emergency always getting in the way.

Inoue leaves after a few minutes, carrying a small bag of bread, and Ichigo’s room is again plunged into silence.

He does appreciate the interruption, but the moment she left, the thoughts he’s managed to push away are again crowding at the forefront of his mind, clamouring for attention.

Maybe it’s the coffee. Ichigo would’ve offered her tea, but he remembers that Inoue prefers coffee. He’s surprised he still remembers it, to be honest, but his hand had moved to the coffee mix instead of the teabags before he even quite realised it.

He takes the card out of his pocket again.

Xcution.

If they make a move on his friends, he would…

* * *

Ichigo’s fists clench.

Hearing Ishida’s words… as seemingly irritated with all of them Ishida seems, Ichigo hasn’t missed the fact that Ishida kept the curtains drawn the whole time, like he hadn’t wanted them to see him.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offers reflexively. He doesn’t know what he can do if someone attacks them, but he’s not going down without a fight.

“I will take her home in my car,” counters Ishida’s father. “You should return home as soon as possible. If you stay out too late with a girl, I suspect your father will never let you hear the end of it.”

Ichigo’s eyes narrow. He knows a dismissal when he hears one. But also…

“Point taken. Thank you very much,” he responds, bowing.

He doesn’t know Ishida’s father very well – and it’s just _weird_ to think of Goat-Face having friends – but there’s no way the elder Quincy doesn’t know of the shinigami setting up shop in his town, and Inoue’s house is in a totally different direction from Urahara Shōten.

He doesn’t know if that’s Ishida elder’s intention, but he appreciates the thought.

Ichigo’s steps slow as he reaches the intersection, the one that would determine whether he heads home, or to the Shōten.

Wait a minute.

Goat-Face isn’t at home right now, he suddenly remembers. If there’s someone after Ichigo’s family, that would be the perfect time for them to strike.

Tomorrow, he decides.

He’ll drop by Urahara’s and get some answers tomorrow.

* * *

“What can you do?” Ishida elder’s voice is annoyingly reasonable.

Ichigo knows very well that he’s powerless; he doesn’t need someone else to point it out for him. And if it’s just about him, he may have hesitated. The raw, conflicted look in Urahara’s eyes still makes him uncomfortable, as does the visceral reminder of something he can never have again.

But Ishida has already been attacked, and now Mizuiro and Keigo too.

Who’s next?

Inoue, Chad, Tatsuki, _Yuzu and Karin_?

The Xcution card is burning a hole in his pocket.

It’s not about him anymore.

* * *

The Shōten is dark and silent by the time he arrives, well after sunset.

Ichigo stands in front of the locked door, staring at it.

One last chance to back out.

He thinks of Yuzu, sprawled over the ground like Keigo and Mizuiro. Of Karin, lying in a hospital bed like Ishida.

Ichigo pulls his keyring out from his pocket, flipping through the keys until he comes to one that he’s never used before.

It fits easily into the lock.

Of course it does.

“Kurosaki-san?” And of course Urahara notices the intrusion immediately, appearing like a ghost from the back room. “Is something the matter?”

Ichigo thrusts the Xcution business card at him. “A guy named Ginjō Kūgo gave this to me. Know him?”

He’s already looking at Urahara, and so he notices the moment the shopkeeper _stills_. He doesn’t freeze, like a deer might in headlights; no, this is a stillness that brings to his mind the stories of ninjas, of assassins that slip unnoticed through the shadows.

“You know him,” he states with certainty.

“Knows _of_ ,” Urahara corrects. He hasn’t so much as blinked. “Kurosaki-san, has he offered you anything? Touched you in any way?”

“Who is he?” Ichigo counters. His blood is turning to ice in his veins, his heart racing. If Urahara recognises the name, that can only mean…

Is his father in danger? Are his _sisters_?

“Kurosaki-san, I must insist –”

“ _Answer_ me!”

Belatedly, he realises he’s all but backed Urahara into the wall, a fist clenched in the front of his samue. Their faces are barely an inch apart. Ichigo can’t see them, but he’s sure Urahara’s wings are arched high over his head, a defensive response to a threat. He’s surprised he hasn’t been shoved aside already.

What is he _doing_?

“Sorry,” he coughed, taking a step back.

“No need to apologise,” Urahara assures. His voice is a little breathless as he steps away from the wall. “Tea, Kurosaki-san?”

It’s a poor effort at normalcy, but Ichigo will take the out.

“I’ll make it,” he counters. “I’m not sure anyone but Kurotsuchi is capable of appreciating that sludge you call _tea_.”

Urahara whips his fan out, following him into the kitchen. Ichigo used to find that habit annoying when he was younger, but somehow this time it makes something settle in his chest, warm and content, like everything’s going to be okay.

“Tell me about Ginjō,” he repeats, setting the kettle to boil.

“He was the first Substitute Shinigami,” Urahara reveals, and Ichigo very nearly drops the kettle on his foot.

“What?”

He’s never heard – nobody’s ever told him –

“It was before Kuchiki-san’s time,” Urahara adds, as though he’s read Ichigo’s mind. “While your father had still been captain, I believe.”

Ichigo shakes his head slowly. “So, about… twenty, thirty years ago?” Ginjō had looked like a man in his forties; but then, if he’d been a shinigami, he might very well be a lot older than he looked. Even _Rukia_ had been 150 years old, and she looked like she was his age.

“Around there,” Urahara agrees. “However, he turned against Soul Society shortly after, and no one has heard from him since."

He looks at Ichigo, his gaze serious. "Kurosaki-san… what has he told you?”

And just like that, there’s ice creeping through his veins again.

The kettle whistles, but Ichigo’s no longer paying any attention.

“He tells me,” and here he has to swallow, the feeling of helplessness bitter on his tongue, “that there’s someone targeting my friends and family, but he can help me get my powers back.”

It’s not even about his wings anymore; Ichigo _would_ like to fly again, Ginjō hadn’t been wrong about that, but he’s given two-thirds of his soul up to protect his family and friends; paid the price gladly and without a hint of resentment. If someone’s going to be threatening them, then…

“Urahara-san,” he starts, carefully. “You once mentioned that you were looking into a way to get my powers back… have you found a way yet?”

When he risks a glance, Urahara’s face is like marble.

Ichigo feels his heart sink. “That’s a no, then.” If Ginjō can offer him an alternative, then, even knowing that he’s behind all this, Ichigo’s going to take the risk.

“Kurosaki-san…” Urahara begins.

Ichigo’s fists clench. He has to do this. His friends, the girls, he can’t stand aside and watch someone he cares about get hurt again, not now, not _ever_ –

“ _Ichigo_ ,” Urahara snaps. The sound of his given name coming out of Urahara’s mouth is so jarring that Ichigo shuts up. Only when he’s sure he has Ichigo’s full attention does Urahara continue, “Give me three days.”

“Three days,” Ichigo repeats, a little dumbly.

Urahara’s eyes are blazing under his hat, the fan nowhere to be seen. “I swear on my life debt, it _will_ be done in three days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Ichigo took three days to get his Fullbring + shinigami powers? I didn't until now.


	3. Chapter 3

His wings are flaring, feathers fluffed out in a frankly _embarrassing_ display, but Kisuke can’t find it in himself to care. Not when Ichigo’s looking at him like _that_ , the first glimmers of fragile hope chasing away the heartbreaking despair in his eyes.

“Stay the night,” he finds himself offering. Ichigo’s old room has been occupied by Jinta, ever since he grew too old to share a room with Ururu, but there’s an easy solution to that. “Take my room, I won’t be using it.”

He doesn’t want Ichigo out alone at this time of the night, not if the enemy finds out that Ichigo has no intention of joining them. No, it’s better if Ichigo stays here to tonight. He’ll get Tessai to tail him to school the next morning, make sure no one’s tracking his movements. Kisuke would do it himself, but he’s going to be busy and Yoruichi’s still in Soul Society.

He should probably call her, give her a heads-up.

Ichigo puts up a token protest, but he’s already subtly relaxing, the tension leaving his muscles. Kisuke doesn’t know how or why Ichigo associates the Shōten with _safety_ , but he’s so, _so_ grateful and humbled that he does.

He leaves a change of clothes out on the futon while Ichigo’s in the shower and slips away into the basement.

“We have to move up the timetable,” he says into the receiver, as soon as Isshin picks up the phone.

“Huh?”

“Ginjō Kūgo has determined Ichigo-san makes for a viable target.” Kisuke breaks the news with little aplomb and pauses for Isshin to finish his bout of cursing. It’s a pretty impressive vocabulary. “Watch your daughters, they have been threatened.”

“And Ichigo?” Isshin demands, once he finishes his latest litany of curses. “He didn’t come home tonight, is he safe?”

“He’s with me.” Kisuke side-steps the issue neatly, letting Isshin draw the conclusions himself.

Isshin grunts, satisfied, and hangs up without another word.

One down, at least two more to go.

Kisuke fiddles with his phone. He knows who he needs to contact, has his name on speed dial, even, but still he hesitates over the ‘call’ button.

 _For Ichigo_ , he reminds himself, and presses down.

Despite the late hour, Shinji picks up almost immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Why, Shinji-san, it’s like you’re not happy to hear from me!” Kisuke chirps, an automatic defence mechanism to the unexpected greeting.

Shinji snorts. “You never call,” his old friend points out, not cruelly.

Kisuke winces anyway. “It’s about Ichigo,” he admits.

Shinji hums, but the sound’s more surprised than contemplative. “He’s already made his decision, then?”

Kisuke pauses.

He’s at once surprised, and not, that Soul Society already knows. They’ve really gotten their act together after Aizen’s betrayal; started being more active instead of passive – no doubt due to the sheer amount of fresh blood in the Gotei nowadays.

 _Has_ Ichigo decided if he was siding with or against Soul Society?

“Not yet,” he finally says, “but he came to me for advice.”

 _Instead of joining Ginjō_ , he doesn’t say outright. Shinji will get it.

“I’ll set up a meeting with Old Man Yama for you,” Shinji responds, all business again. “That’s your next call, right?”

Kisuke can’t help the relieved twitch of his wings. “I’ll trouble you to do that, then.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Shinji warns. “It’s going to be difficult even with half the Gotei on his side, you know that.”

“I know,” Kisuke acknowledges, “but I owe him my life.”

Shinji snorts indelicately. “You owe him something far more sacred than that.”

Kisuke knows.

He knows, which is why he’s doing this.

Hanging up, he goes over to the far wall in his lab, slides the doors open. There’s a transparent display case attached to the wall, a katana of the purest white mounted within, glowing as if lit by an inner light.

His wings twitch at the sight.

He knows, without seeing, that the entire sword is covered in etchings, the runework so impossibly fine they cannot be done by conventional tools. He knows, because he had to carve each and every one of those symbols with his own bankai, his reiatsu honed to a point invisible to the naked eye.

It’s a reverse-asauchi, he supposes. Instead of absorbing reiatsu from one shinigami and taking on the properties of their soul, it’s designed to absorb reiatsu from an infinite number of shinigami without taking on the properties of any of their souls, and then channel all of that into one person. This will fill Ichigo’s reiatsu reserves, without draining anyone dry in the process.

In theory, that is.

Shinji is aware of his little project, as are Yoruichi and Kyōraku, as a sort of pilot study. The fact that Yamamoto has yet to order him to stop or Suì-Fēng to destroy his lab gives Kisuke hope.

His wings fan out, and the katana glows brighter in response, like it’s reacting to his reiatsu. Kisuke won’t be surprised if it actually _is_ ; it was, after all, smithed by his hand and crafted with his bankai.

He shuts the door again.

Shinji will call back if there are any updates. Meanwhile, he has one last set of reiatsu seals to fine-tune.

* * *

It’s the insistent gurgle of his stomach that reminds Kisuke there’s such a thing as the passage of time. He shakes his head, blinking furiously, and his wings automatically curve up to shield his eyes as he exits the basement.

It’s… day time, he can tell at a glance, squinting at the window. The sun is high enough in the sky that he feels safe calling it either mid-morning or early afternoon.

His bedroom is en route from the basement to the kitchen, so Kisuke feels no shame in sticking his head through the door. The futon has already been cleared, his favourite sleep robe stacked neatly on the tatami mats. It’s evident that Ichigo has no plans to return.

Perhaps Kisuke should make him reconsider.

He wanders into the kitchen, where he is met by Tessai’s most disapproving stare.

“How is our guest?” Kisuke asks immediately, as much to forestall the lecture as it is to hear the answer.

Tessai’s wings, a gorgeous set of royal blue that used to match his Kidō Commander robes, ripples in unease.

Kisuke sets down his tea.

“Hm.”

His fears are not unfounded after all.

“Did Ginjō-san make contact, or merely observe?”

“Observe,” Tessai reports immediately, but then adds, “he and one other.”

Kisuke starts in on his rice, because he is, in fact, hungry.

“Call me when school is over.”

Tessai, for all that he’s picked up by sheer association, is not _quite_ on par with an ex-Onmitsukidō Commander. No, if Kisuke wants to figure out who the other person is, he’s going to have to do the legwork himself.

“Tenchō,” Tessai says.

Kisuke pauses. That’s a fair point, actually – when do human schools let out for the day?

“Call me an hour before sundown,” he amends. If Ichigo isn’t headed to the shop, he’ll be headed home by then, and it will be much easier to find him. Kisuke simply does not have the _time_ to stake out the high school, waiting for an unsuspecting Ichigo, like some perverted old man.

* * *

The reiatsu seals are complete right on time; ahead of schedule, even. Kisuke sits back, lays down his tools. He’ll carve the final product in tonight, after he’s given it a second look. The last thing anybody needs is for the sword to explode in their hands.

“I’m going out,” he calls to Tessai.

Karakura High, as expected, is largely devoid of students. Just in case, Kisuke pokes his head into all the sports clubs still practising, but there’s no bright orange hair to be found.

There are also no signs of Ichigo at the hospital – there's only Ryūken, whose glasses flash as Kisuke strolls past – at Unagiya’s, at the construction site where Chad works, or by the river bank where Masaki died.

His wings beat again, carrying him over rooftops, and Kisuke rises higher into the air. If he tilts his primary feathers just right, they shine the palest gold, blending seamlessly into the setting sun from afar.

Humans. Substitute shinigami or not, they never remember to look up.

Even from the air, Ichigo’s hair is a distinctive giveaway.

As is the Hollow bearing down upon him.

Kisuke folds his wings back, tucks his legs into his chest, and free-falls into a dive.

“Onii-chan!”

The two reiatsu signatures one street over – one shinigami, one unfamiliar – blink out of existence as Kisuke reaches terminal velocity, fingers already folded the starting position for his favourite kidō.

He’ll deal with those two later.

Yuzu gives a startled scream when the Hollow disintegrates around her, but Kisuke’s timed it perfectly. He snags the back of her shirt with one hand, scoops her into his arms, and lands in front of Ichigo.

Ichigo stares at him suspiciously, accepting Yuzu from him, but the way his gaze is slightly off-centre tells Kisuke that Ichigo can’t actually see him.

“Who are you?” he demands, his shoulders hunched up, his muscles tense and wary.

Kisuke can’t help the way he curls a wing protectively around Ichigo’s shoulders, wanting – no, _needing_ – to chase the shadows of guilt and fear from Ichigo’s eyes.

Ichigo inhales sharply. He frees one of his hands, stretches it out, and grazes his knuckles lightly over the down feathers. Kisuke shivers.

“Urahara-san?” he guesses.

Kisuke’s suddenly, abruptly, reminded of how little time Ichigo has actually _had_ with his wings – not even a full year, in fact. Of course he can’t recognise his wings by tactile sensation alone; not like most of the shinigami can, not like _Kisuke_ could, with Benihime.

There’s something cold and hard sitting in his chest, and it takes a few moments for Kisuke to figure out how to breathe again.

He takes Ichigo by the hand instead, wrapping his fingers around that shockingly slim wrist – has Ichigo not been eating enough? He’ll have to ask Tessai to make extra helpings tonight – and gives it a little tug. Ichigo follows willingly enough, especially when he realises they’re just headed to the Kurosaki Clinic.

Karin’s sitting on the couch in the living room, scowling at her homework, when Ichigo opened the door. She looks up, and her eyes go wide. “Ichi-nii?” She leaps to her feet, hurrying around to the door. “Yuzu!”

She turns a gimlet eye on Kisuke. “What happened, Urahara-san?”

Kisuke pretends not to notice the way Ichigo sags against his side in relief.

“Your family is in danger,” Kisuke summarises, and Karin _snarls_.

“Why can’t they just leave Ichi-nii alone?” she shouts, fists clenched. “Hasn’t he done enough already?”

Ichigo tugs gently on the – oh, right, he’s still holding Ichigo’s hand. Kisuke fights not to blush, but the way Karin’s eyes narrow suggests that he may not have succeeded. Oblivious to the byplay, Ichigo walks over to the couch, setting Yuzu down.

“I think it may be better for all of you to stay over at the shop tonight,” Kisuke offers. Surely Ururu can be convinced to bunk with Jinta for one night, and Tessai to open up his room for Isshin. It will only be for one night.

“What about tomorrow?” Karin challenges. “We can’t hide out forever.”

Tomorrow… tomorrow, Shinji will have an answer for him, and Kisuke will take the sword to Soul Society. Assuming Yamamoto doesn’t order his execution for his audacity, by tomorrow night Ichigo will have his powers back, and Ginjō will no longer have any hold over him.


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s the third day tomorrow,” Ichigo says suddenly, turning around.

Karin’s eyes narrow further. “The third day of what?”

Kisuke really doesn’t want to get in the middle of this. Karin has been very vocal with how she’s glad her brother has lost his powers and can no longer be caught in any ‘ghost business’, but it’s not her choice to make.

Oblivious to the byplay, Ichigo says, “Urahara-san is going to help me get my powers back.”

Kisuke winces pre-emptively, even as Karin explodes forwards, and her punch lands squarely on his cheek.

“How _could_ you?” she shrieks.

Ichigo shoots up from the couch, coming over to grab Karin by the arm before she could punch Kisuke again. Kisuke gestures automatically at Ichigo to tell him he’s fine, before he realises Ichigo can’t see him.

“Have you asked _Ichigo_ what he wants?” he prompts, as gently as he can. He works his tongue around in his mouth. It was a solid punch. He’s definitely cut the inside of his cheek on his teeth.

Karin shakes her brother off and crosses her arms over her chest, turning her head to the side.

“It’s not fair,” she mutters.

Ichigo snorts, even as Kisuke responds, “Ichigo is… a very unique individual,” he pauses, carefully skirting around the matter of his heritage. He’s hyperaware of the fact that Isshin is hovering by the doorway just out of sight and letting Kisuke handle his irate daughter.

Coward.

Masaki may not have wanted her children to know of their Quincy heritage, but surely she will forgive Isshin this transgression, rather than see her baby boy targeted for matters he’s been deliberately kept unaware of?

“And most of his friends are shinigami. Will you continue to deprive him of the chance to see them again?”

“But why don’t they come and visit him instead?” Karin demands. “There’s those… fake body things, right?”

“Entry into the Transient World, especially the jūreichi, is highly restricted outside of wartime conditions,” Kisuke explains. “This is to prevent Hollows from being attracted by the sudden high density of reiatsu. I know for a fact that Abarai-san and Kuchiki-san have tried to apply for passes on multiple occasions, but their requests have not been granted.”

Nor Kensei’s, nor Ikkaku, nor – well, Shinji hadn’t fought the Sōtaichō’s decision, which meant even Shinji agreed there was a good reason for it. Not to mention, all of Ichigo’s closest friends have been busy helping to rebuild the shattered Gotei from the ground up, sometimes literally.

Ichigo hadn’t been in physical danger.

Until now.

Kisuke has no doubt that the moment Kuchiki-san and Abarai-san hear of Ginjō’s attack, they will be marching out of the first Senkaimon they can get their hands on, and to hell with the Sōtaichō.

Yuzu gets off the couch, her legs just barely wobbling, and slips her hand into her twin’s.

Karin chews on her lip, clear indecision flitting across her face. “Fine,” she finally bites out, and stomps up the stairs, dragging Yuzu by the hand.

There’s the slam of a door upstairs.

Movement from the corner of his eye catches Kisuke’s attention.

“Goat-Face,” greets Ichigo. He doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised, even though at that angle he couldn’t have possibly seen Isshin standing there.

“Isshin-san,” adds Kisuke.

Isshin’s eyes dart between the two of them, before settling on Kisuke. “Ichigo, go pack a bag. Urahara and I need to talk.”

Ichigo casts an uncertain look at his father, but he must’ve realised there isn’t anything he can do, when he can’t even see or hear half the conversation. Kisuke doesn’t fail to notice the balled-up fists by Ichigo’s sides as he too makes his way upstairs.

“Tea?” Isshin’s tone is brusque, and Kisuke declines politely. He isn’t here for tea.

“How is it coming along?”

Not one to beat about the bush, Isshin is – when he’s being serious. “It is done. Pending the Sōtaichō’s approval, of course.” Kisuke wishes he has his fan, but there’s nothing he can do about that right now.

Isshin exhales, and his expression twists. “I should’ve walked them home from school myself –”

“Then you would have tipped Ginjō off,” Kisuke reminds him. “He’s been following them long enough to know that Karin-san and Yuzu-san have always walked home by themselves.”

Any further discussion is, thankfully, curtailed by Karin stomping back down the stairs, a backpack slung over her shoulder. Yuzu and Ichigo follow closely behind with their own bags.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Tessai barely bats an eyelid when four more people turn up for dinner than he is expecting, just asks Jinta and Ururu to set out utensils. Then again, this is Tessai. There’s no way his second-oldest friend hasn’t expected this outcome from the moment Kisuke stepped out of the Shōten.

Ichigo blinks, his chopsticks freezing in mid-air, when Kisuke joins them in the dining room.

Kisuke tugs the hat lower, snaps his fan open to hide whatever his face may be showing at the expression on Ichigo’s face, wonder and surprise all in one.

It’s sweet Yuzu, oblivious Yuzu, who breaks off in the middle of what looks like an animated conversation with Ururu to chirp, “Oh! Good evening, Urahara-san!”

Karin snorts. “He literally _just_ saw you five minutes ago.”

Yuzu manages an impressive rendition of Ichigo’s scowl. “Yes, but _I_ couldn’t see him before.”

“Good evening, Kurosaki-san,” Kisuke cuts in, just as Karin opens her mouth to retort. He gets a glare for his trouble, but he’s also successfully derailed one argument at the table, so he counts that as a win. Poor Yuzu shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of Karin’s anger, not when the one Karin is angry at is _him_.

Dinner is… awkward, to say the least, with all the tension hanging in the air. Kisuke beats a hasty retreat the moment he finishes eating, murmuring something noncommittal about wanting to check his work one last time.

He blames his preoccupation for the fact that he doesn’t even notice Ichigo’s followed him.

“Urahara-san,” Ichigo calls out, his tone making it obvious that it’s not the first time he’s tried to talk to Kisuke. “Thank you,” he says, the moment he’s sure Kisuke is paying attention.

The fan shields the majority of his expression, but Ichigo looks like he caught most of it anyway.

“What for?”

Ichigo gestures vaguely. “Wearing a gigai. I know it can’t be comfortable.”

It’s not. It’s tucking his wings into a space far too small to fit them, forcing them into a body that’s designed to keep them compressed and hidden, and every fibre in Kisuke cries out at the indignation.

“Hardly any trouble,” he lies. “I’m used to it.”

Ichigo doesn’t look like he believes him, but he also doesn’t push the issue, for which Kisuke is grateful.

“I’m sorry about Karin,” he adds. “I’ll go talk to her.”

Kisuke waves off the apology. “She’s your sister; she has the right to be concerned.”

Ichigo shakes his head. “It’s still my decision to make. It’s not right for her to blame you for everything.”

Kisuke is rarely hesitant, but he finds that he is now.

“Kurosaki-san –”

“Just call me Ichigo already,” Ichigo interrupts. The customary scowl is back on his face. “There are four Kurosakis currently in your house, I can’t tell if you mean Goat-Face, my sister, or my other sister.”

“… Ichigo-san,” Kisuke acquiesces to that logic. “In that case, I think we can dispense with the formalities.” And then, before he can let his mind linger on Ichigo’s expression, Kisuke turns and forms the hand seals that unlocks the display case.

The lights are dim, but they are kept that way on purpose; the better for Kisuke to see the faint glow coming from the sword itself, inspect the runes etched into the surface. He runs a finger over the markings, double-checks the script against the design lying on his desk.

No mistakes, not that he’s been expecting any.

“Can I see it?”

Kisuke opens his eyes, faintly surprised, but he hands the reiatsu sword over without a word.

Ichigo runs his fingers over the carvings in a manner that Kisuke can only describe as _reverent_ , his hands gentle but firm.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Ichigo whispers, handing the sword back. The flickering light of the candle catches in his hair, setting it ablaze in a crown of gold, and Kisuke has to look away.

“It’s the least I can do,” he finds himself saying, far too honestly.

Ichigo opens his mouth, and then closes it again without saying anything.

“It’s late.” Kisuke busies himself with storing the sword back in the case. “You should get some sleep.”

“What about you?” Ichigo challenges. “You didn’t get any sleep last night.”

Kisuke shakes his head. “There’s only one futon –”

“The room’s big enough for both of us,” Ichigo retorts. “And there’s no way you don’t have a spare futon in this entire house. I’m sure Tessai-san will be happy to find one for me.” He catches Kisuke’s wrist, and Kisuke is far too startled to pull away. “No matter what anyone tells you, _this_ isn’t something you need to atone for. _I_ don’t blame you. I don’t see why anyone else should.”

Kisuke would tell him that he’s mistaken, except –

Well, if he puts it that way.

Kisuke has always been far too good at metacognition to lie to himself, and now that Ichigo points it out, it’s retrospectively _obvious_ that he’s been subconsciously punishing himself.

Ichigo tugs on his wrist again, and Kisuke capitulates.

“Yes, all right.”

The linen closet yields a spare futon and pillow easily enough, without having to bother Tessai. The futon that Ichigo used the previous night is still in the corner, his borrowed robe folded on top of it, like it’s been waiting for Ichigo’s return.

Ichigo clears his throat.

"Could you... take it off?"

For a moment, Kisuke thought Ichigo meant _his clothes_.

And then reality reasserts itself, and _of course_ Ichigo is talking about his gigai, why would he possibly mean anything else? Kisuke manages a jerky nod, slipping his hand from Ichigo’s grasp.

His wings flare out on either side of him, eager to be free of the constraints, and Kisuke’s so caught up in the feeling that the first tentative brush against his feathers makes him jump.

Ichigo draws back a little, but he doesn’t let go of Kisuke’s wing, running his fingers over the soft downy feathers on the underside. His face is a study in concentration, and Kisuke can’t help but shiver at the intensity of it.

“Are you cold?”

Without waiting for a response, Ichigo tugs Kisuke down onto the futons, dragging the covers haphazardly up Kisuke’s legs. Kisuke would protest, except he realises that Ichigo’s doing it so that he can _see_ the outline under the covers, even if he can’t see Kisuke himself, and he can’t bring himself to object after that.

It’s not even a _bad_ feeling, objectively speaking – Ichigo isn’t pulling on the feathers, like small children sometimes do – he’s just skating his fingers through them, like he’s trying to remember what they used to look like from the feel alone.

Kisuke props himself up on his elbows, keeping his breathing steady. He’s so, _so_ glad Ichigo can neither see nor hear him right now, because he can’t possibly stop his wings from arching back to their fullest, until his back muscles are straining and his feathers all fluffed out. Even if Ichigo can take a guess at his actions, he won’t understand the significance of this, and Kisuke will gladly take it to the grave.

Ichigo withdraws his hand slowly, his expression caught in a mixture of intense yearning and a reluctant sort of resignation that looks completely out of place on his face, and Kisuke is struck by a sudden _need_ to make sure Ichigo no longer has any cause to look that way again.

“Thanks, Kisuke-san,” Ichigo mutters, turning his head away.

Kisuke lets out a sigh.

He’s already created too many miracles to count when it comes to Kurosaki Ichigo; what’s one more in the grand scheme of things?

He’ll make sure Ichigo gets to fly one more time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sick of Ginjou...

“Urahara Kisuke.” Neither Yamamoto’s face nor his wings give anything away of his true feelings.

Kisuke briefly longs for his fan, but there’s nothing for it, not if he wants Yamamoto to take him seriously. Instead, he sinks to his knees, bows his head, and lets his wings curl into the entreatment position.

The hall is so silent he could’ve heard a pin drop.

He keeps his eyes lowered to the floor, but he knows what they must be looking at.

Ichigo’s wings are absolutely _gorgeous_ when properly groomed and oiled, glowing in the faint light like they were plucked directly from the Western legend of an angel. They almost didn’t need additional embellishment, but Kisuke refuses to leave anything up to chance. He may not be a noble himself, but he _did_ grow up with Yoruichi-san, and it’s not hard to pick up some noble etiquette just by osmosis.

The jar of firefly dust does not come cheap or easy, but Kisuke has been prepared for the possibility since he started on this venture.

After all, what’s the use of money when it can’t be used to help the man he loves?

He resists the urge to flick his wings, to show any sign of discomfort at having the entire Gotei stare at them. It should’ve been Ichigo here, he thinks suddenly, uncharacteristically viciously. It should’ve been Ichigo standing here, his wings tall and proud behind him, taking his rightful place amongst his peers.

Kisuke is a poor substitute, but he will do what he can.

He owes Ichigo that much.

“I understand the situation,” Yamamoto says, after what feels like an eternity of contemplation.

Kisuke waits on his knees, ruthlessly strangling any kernel of hope before it could threaten to take flight. It’s a neutral statement. The Sōtaichō could mean it either way.

“You may bear the katana here, Urahara Kisuke.”

Does he – he cannot mean –

Unohana’s shocked voice drowns out any noise he may have made. “Sōtaichō, do you mean –”

A clarification. Not an outright denial.

Somehow, Kisuke finds the strength to keep his gaze trained on the floor, keep his wings folded in entreaty, keep his reiatsu from lashing out in his shock.

He’d hope, of course he had, but to have those hopes come _true_ –

“Strange though his actions may have been, Kurosaki Ichigo saved our lives.” Yamamoto reminds them, and isn’t that a surprise too? The Sōtaichō of old would never have explained his orders, not even to his most trusted subordinate. “Now, it falls to us to repay the favour. Even if we must turn our backs on millennia of custom, better to do so than to bring eternal shame on the Gotei 13 by forsaking our debt.”

He thumps his cane on the floor, once, and rises.

Kisuke can’t _breathe_.

“This is my order as Sōtaichō. Let all captains and vice-captains of the Gotei 13 pour their reiatsu into this sword – let us return the powers of a shinigami to Kurosaki Ichigo.”

He’s _done it_.

* * *

Shinji’s waiting for him when Kisuke stumbles out of the meeting hall.

“Ah, Kisuke,” he says loudly, forcing an irritated Suì-Féng to detour around him. “Long time no see.”

Kisuke eyes him with some suspicion, but most of him’s still reeling from the Sōtaichō’s decision. A friendly face – as suspect as it might be – may just be the thing he needs right now.

Rose and Kensei hover behind Shinji like an incongruous pair of bodyguards. Rose’s dappled wings fluttering in the morning breeze as well, like they’re tapping out the rhythm to a melody that Kisuke can’t hear. In contrast, Kensei’s are neatly folded behind his back, as if he’s ready for a brawl any time.

He’s whisked away to a veranda, and this _has_ to be pre-planned, because the rest of the Visoreds are already there, along with – to his mild surprise, although he should really have expected this – Yoruichi-san.

“So Kisuke,” Shinji takes a sip from his cup. “How are things going with Ichigo?”

He’s sure he heard wrong.

“What?”

Yoruichi laughs, pouring herself another cup. “Don’t play coy with us,” she chides. “Anyone can hear it, the way you talked about him just now.”

Somehow, Kisuke’s not surprised she managed to eavesdrop on a top-secret captains-only meeting.

“There’s nothing to say.” He shakes his head, his wings twitching with discomfort. There simply isn’t anything going on between him and Ichigo, no matter how Kisuke may feel. Ichigo’s act of selflessness had just been – _that_. Kurosaki Ichigo is the kind of man who would die for a random girl he’s known for two weeks, giving up his wings to a dying man is exactly the kind of thing he would do with no ulterior motive and no special feelings.

Lisa shoves her glasses up her nose, making them glint ominously. Kisuke has a feeling Yoruichi hadn’t been the only one spying on the meeting.

“Che. Boring,” proclaimed Hiyori, already turning away in disinterest.

“My apologies,” Kisuke says, even though he has no idea what he should be apologising for. Not providing sufficiently entertaining gossip fodder, maybe?

Yoruichi gives him another long look, before segueing the conversation into the latest Seireitei gossip. _This isn’t over yet_ , that look said.

Kisuke sips at his own sake.

Ichigo will get his powers back, and the radiant smile on his face will be enough to warm Kisuke’s heart. He’ll be satisfied with that.

* * *

It’s evening time by the time the katana has made its rounds around the Gotei, and lands in the hands of the Visoreds. When the last of them is done channelling their energy into the sword, Kisuke reaches for it, except he’s not quite fast enough and Yoruichi gets there first.

The questions die on his tongue when her hand glows with crackling gold, adding her reiatsu to the potent mix already stored within the sword. Yoruichi’s not a part of the Gotei, doesn’t consider herself beholden to the Gotei the way _he_ still does, which means… she’s not doing this on the orders of the Sōtaichō – she’s doing it because she _wants_ to.

Because she approves.

Kisuke swallows compulsively when he accepts the katana from her, feeling the tiny part of him that would forever yearn for her approval glow in satisfaction.

“Go,” she tells him.

Kisuke goes.

There are six others standing in front of the Senkaimon when he arrives, katana in hand. Some of them, like Rukia and Renji and even Kuchiki-taichō, he has expected. Some of them, not so much.

“There are two reasons why the Sōtaichō ordered that we return Kurosaki Ichigo’s powers,” explained Hitsugaya tersely. “One is to repay our debt.”

“Ah,” Kisuke murmurs, understanding. “The second reason would be Ginjō-san.”

Hitsugaya inclines his head in a slight nod.

“Our primary role will be to stand as witness.” Byakuya casts Zaraki and Ikkaku a glance, subtly reminding them of that fact. “However, we are also authorised to intervene should Ginjō Kūgo bring reinforcements.”

From the look on Zaraki’s face, he’s clearly relishing any opportunity for the latter.

“Rukia will go through first with you,” Byakuya explains. “The rest of us will await a pre-arranged signal, to avoid tipping them off prematurely.”

Kisuke approves of the dramatic irony, even if he would have liked to present the katana to Ichigo personally.

One by one, they step through the Senkaimon into his basement.

To his surprise, Isshin is waiting by the Senkaimon. Kisuke feels ice pooling in the pit of his abdomen.

“Ginjō-san has begun his offensive?” he demands, his voice coming out far more curt than it would usually be, but he has no attention to spare to curb his tone.

Isshin nods, uncharacteristically serious. “That ally Ginjō has is capable of modifying memories. He got to Ichigo’s friends and convinced them to breach the Shōten. I managed to knock the girls out, but I couldn’t stop Ichigo from going after his friends.”

Kisuke curses in his head. “We must hurry.” Tessai will be able to take care of the Kurosaki girls, thereby preventing Ginjō from taking any more hostages, but Ichigo’s friends are another matter.

The power to modify memories… is that even possible?

* * *

They burst in on a scene of utter chaos.

Kisuke tips the brim of his hat down, but even that barely keeps the rain out of his eyes. It’s like the very heavens have opened up to mourn the source of Ichigo’s despair, because Kisuke could’ve sworn it hadn’t been raining barely a moment ago.

Ginjō is all the way at the other end of the clearing, an unfamiliar man next to him, but there’s no mistaking their reiatsu signatures. These are the two who had been spying on Ichigo when Yuzu was attacked by that Hollow near her home.

Ichigo shudders, falling to his knees, and his hair falls into his eyes – but not enough to hide the fact that there are tears rolling down his cheeks.

Kisuke’s mind goes utterly, terrifyingly blank.

His chest is still so tight he can scarcely breathe, but the buzz in his ears is fading and reality is creeping back in.

Seconds? Has it only been seconds?

Rukia yanks the katana out of Ichigo’s unprotected back, setting off into a diatribe that lifts Ichigo’s mood like flipping a switch, so easily that Kisuke’s heart burns for a brief moment with jealousy before logic reasserts itself.

“No matter how much he changes your past, he can’t change your future! If you’ve lost your bonds, then you just have to rebuild them once more! _Am I wrong_ , Ichigo?”

Ichigo stares at her, his mouth hanging open.

She tucks her hands behind her back like she’s about to launch into another diatribe, and the angle is such that Kisuke is perhaps the only one to see her crush the capsule that would summon the rest of the shinigami.

He’s glad, in a way, that they won’t have to bear witness to Ichigo’s tears.

A loud snort from the other end of the clearing put an end to the sibling-like rivalry. “You think making him look like a shinigami means his powers are back?” Ginjō demands. “The first time, the transfer only succeeded because Kurosaki already had shinigami powers hidden inside him.” He raises his own sword, his smirk stretching into a leer.

Reiatsu is starting to gather in the night sky, the herald to a Senkaimon, and yet that fool Ginjō is so busy posturing he cannot sense it.

“But this time, he has none whatsoever! I’ve stolen every last drop from him!” He proclaims, as if they need the reminder.

Kisuke tips his head back, watching the crack between the worlds.

 “There’s no way Kurosaki’s powers can recover from zero, even if you poured all your own reiatsu into him!”

“You moron! Rukia ain’t alone!”

In a manner that’s no doubt a product of Byakuya’s flair for dramatics, the Senkaimon thunders open, 5 panels of wood slamming into invisible thresholds simultaneously. When the pink glow fades,

“Renji!” Ichigo exclaims. His smile is blinding.

“That sword contains reiatsu from all of us!” Renji shouts at Ginjō in lieu of greeting Ichigo. “Restoring the powers for one little Ichigo should be more than enough!”

Before Ichigo can say anything in protest, Rukia raises her voice. “Ginjō, was it? What you stole was only the tiny fraction of Ichigo’s power that had fused with that Fullbring thing,” she explains. “Power rushes forth from within Ichigo. It’s not something that the likes of you can exhaust in a million years!”

Ginjō huffs, swinging his sword over his shoulder.

“Ichigo!” barks Rukia. “They have no idea. They don’t know how much suffering you’ve already overcome. Show them, Ichigo – show them that despair will never be enough to chain you down!”

Ichigo spins Zangetsu slowly in his hand, as though testing its shape and weight, and then _charges_.

It’s a testing blow, Kisuke can see immediately, with Ichigo still getting used to the odd size of his new zanpakutō and the feeling of shunpo, but Ginjō doesn’t seem to realise that.

“Looks like you’ve powered up a little. But it’s nothing to get excited about.”

He ducks as Ichigo gives his sword another swing.

Kisuke is, reluctantly, _impressed_.

Ginjō begs to differ, however. “Your Getsuga Tenshō may have gotten stronger, but not by enough! You still missed – that’s not enough to kill me, Kurosaki!”

“You dumbass.” Ichigo lands behind him. “That wasn’t a Getsuga Tenshō. My sword’s a bit different, so I was just swinging it to test the heft.”

That almost sounds like an answer that _Kisuke_ would give. Rukia covers her mouth, but some of the other shinigami aren’t as quite restrained – Renji in particular is almost bent double with laughter. Zaraki… Zaraki looks like he’s about to kick Ginjō out of the way so that he can challenge Ichigo himself.

Ichigo knows none of that, however. Ginjō’s eyes are darting all around, but there’s nowhere to run, no place that would suffice as cover against the potent concentration of reiatsu that Ichigo is charging into Zangetsu.

The heavens split asunder, tearing apart the stormy clouds in an instant and flooding them with moonlight.

“Sorry. I missed.” Ichigo almost sounds sheepish. He rotates his wrist, changing his grip on Zangetsu. “Next time I won’t.”

Looks like Ichigo has the situation well in hand. Kisuke allows himself one last glimpse of Ichigo bearing down upon Ginjō with all of the fury of a protector, and then makes to intercept the two reiatsu signatures approaching rapidly through the trees.

Inoue and Chad are not hard to sneak up on, which speaks volumes about their state of mind, really. Kisuke ghosts behind them, tracking them by reiatsu rather than sight, and slips behind a convenient oak when they draw to a halt.

“Kuchiki-san… Abarai-kun… Tōshirō-kun…” Inoue’s voice is filled with relief. “Everyone’s come to stop Kurosaki-kun.”

Kisuke will admit that those are not words he’s ever expected to hear from Inoue; but then, surely he is not expected to predict memory manipulation?

“That’s weird.” Manipulated or not, Chad at least seems to be able to read the situation correctly. “Why are they all standing on his side?”

“Eh?”

“Aren’t they all here to stop Ichigo? Why does it look like they’re here to fight Ginjō?”

Inoue inhales sharply, seemingly at a loss for words.

Good. Keep doubting – Kisuke doesn’t know this one specifically, but there are few psychic abilities that can withstand a concentrated introspection, especially if Ginjō’s ally had left their memories of the shinigami intact. Even _Aizen_ could not fool Unohana, in the end.

“What’s wrong, you two? Are you doubting your memories of the past?”

A strange reiatsu flickers and flares. From his angle, all Kisuke can see is a sickly green glow, but he doesn’t dare to get a proper visual.

“T-tsukishima-san,” Inoue breathes.

“How strange. Don’t you trust the memories you have of me?”

Kisuke can’t see Tsukishima’s face, but the tone sends chills shivering down his spine, the sense of _wrong wrong WRONG_ intensifying. He’s sure even Inoue and Chad can sense that, even if their memories have been manipulated to trust this Tsukishima person unconditionally.

“Who protected you from your parents and brought you, Orihime? Who gave you your pendant, Chad?”

“That’s strange. I know I’m alive thanks to Tsukishima-san…” Inoue gasps. “So… why?”

Kisuke purses his lips in sympathy. He’s only glad that Ichigo – that the rest of her friends are too far to hear this involuntary confession, something that should never have been shared unless Inoue herself wants to share it.

“I’ve… I’ve always… Tsukishima-san…” Chad sounds like he’s being _tortured_. “ _Trusted_ you…”

Kisuke meets Isshin’s eyes.

“Tsukishima!” Ginjō shouts. “Stop screwing with their altered pasts, you’ll break them and then they’ll be useless. Have you forgotten how many people you’ve destroyed that way?”

It’s easy, horribly easy to knock the two of them out.

“E-yah, thank goodness we made it in time,” he calls out, his disgust carefully tucked underneath a mask of carefreeness. “Thanks to the way you carelessly weakened their defences, knocking them out was child’s play. My sincerest thanks.”

Even from so far away, he can see the tense line of Ichigo’s shoulders relaxing.

“That removes Inoue-san and Sado-san from the battlefield,” Kisuke calls up to him. “They won’t have to suffer any more. All the others have already been moved to a safe location, so you can fight without any worries.”

Already, he can sense several other strange reiatsu signatures converging upon their location. But there are six shinigami ready to help Ichigo, and Kisuke has a far important job right now.

He tips his head at Isshin, and together, they drag Inoue and Chad away.

Perhaps, afterwards, he too will come to stand witness.


	6. Chapter 6

­­It’s the right call to leave.

He knows that.

Kisuke adjusts his hold on Inoue, folding his wings into a more aerodynamic shape. Ordinarily he would fly above the trees, but he doesn’t want to risk Tsukishima tracking their direction.

He ignores the dull ache in his heart, the feeling that he’s abandoning Ichigo.

There are six fully-trained shinigami back there with Ichigo, all of whom are in possession of bankai – although Kuchiki Rukia may not deem her own safe enough for live combat usage yet – and they are on their full guard against Tsukishima.

The Shōten is in full medical mode by the time they reach it, the shōji dividers folded away to create one large central space filled with futons and basins of water.

Kisuke pauses very slightly at the threshold. There are a lot more people than he has been expecting; in fact, all of Ichigo’s human friends are laid out on futons across the room. That does explain what Jinta and Ururu had been doing earlier, but it doesn’t…

“Tessai-san,” he begins, and then changes his mind. Tessai needs all his concentration to stabilise Inoue and Chad. “Please take care of them,” he says instead, laying Inoue out on the first spare futon he can spot.

Tessai inclines his head gravely as he passes, fingers already folding into archaic patterns that Kisuke would love to analyse some other day, but not today.

Ururu is busy wringing out hot towels in one corner, but she’s not so fixed upon her task that she cannot sate his curiosity.

“What happened while I was in Soul Society?”

“Kisuke-san…” she begins, and then visibly hesitates.

Kisuke steels his heart for the bad news. “Go on.”

She peers up at him in concern but complies readily. “After breakfast was over, Ichigo-san received a call from Sado-san, saying that he and Orihime-san are going to help Uryū-san home since Uryū-san was getting discharged today.” Her wings, hummingbird-green and just as gossamer-thin, flutter furiously in distress. “Tessai-san asked us to follow Ichigo-san, just in case he gets ambushed along the way…” she trails off.

“But the whole thing was a trap,” Kisuke finishes for her. “Tsukishima-san had already gotten to them, had he not?”

Ururu nods quickly, darting a glance up at his face to check his expression. Whatever she sees sets her mouth into a moue of worry, but she continues. “Halfway to the hospital, Ichigo-san was waylaid by Tatsuki-san, and while he was distracted by her, Sado-san and Orihime-san managed to overwhelm him.” She stutters over her last few words, ducking her head and poking her fingers together.

“You did well,” Kisuke assured, ruffling her hair. “Ichigo will tell you as much himself, when he gets back.”

Ururu drops the towel she is folding.

Belatedly, Kisuke realises what is wrong with that sentence, but a bright happy expression has already spread over Ururu’s face and he is loath to destroy it.

Damn it, there’s no way around it, is there?

It looks like he will have to speak to Ichigo after he gets back.

From across the room, Isshin sits back with a loud sigh. Kisuke can’t be sure how much of the conversation he’s overheard, but if Isshin isn’t going to bring it up, neither is he.

“They’ve stabilised,” Isshin reports.

Kisuke nods at Ururu, moving over to inspect Sado and Inoue. As Isshin said, they are just resting now. “Tessai-san,” he calls out, standing up. “I’ll leave the rest to you then.”

His old friend inclines his head. “Yes, I will see to them.”

He’s almost at the door when Isshin’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Where are you going?”

“To where everyone is.”

“To assist?” Isshin half-rises. “I’m coming with you.”

Kisuke snaps his fan open. “No, most of the fighting is probably over, so I’m going to provide healing.” He peers at Isshin over the top of the fan and decides their friendship can handle an extra jab or two, whatever Kisuke’s feelings for his son are. “You’ll be of no help, Isshin-san, so stay here.”

Isshin sits down with a huff, but he doesn’t protest Kisuke’s assessment of his medical kidō skills. “Shouldn’t we try to wrap this up quickly by assisting Ichigo with his fight? If we don’t do that, then…”

“He’ll find out from Ginjō Kūgo?” Kisuke knows he’s slipping up, his tone losing its airy quality, even before Isshin looks up sharply. “That’s fine,” he continues, before Isshin can say anything.

Isshin makes a tiny noise, but not exactly a resounding rejection.

“He was going to find out sooner or later,” Kisuke points out, not unkindly.

Isshin doesn’t say anything as Kisuke slips out of the door and slides it shut behind him.

* * *

He really did intend to head straight back to where Ichigo is, but as he passes by the open trapdoor that leads to the basement, a sudden thought captures his attention.

Ginjō Kūgo, as much as the Gotei does not like to admit it, is a former Substitute _Shinigami_.

And that means he has as much experience fighting with his wings as does any proper shinigami.

Kisuke doesn’t know what Ginjō’s capabilities are, but the fact that the Gotei of thirty years ago chose to give him a title rather than quietly dispose of him, and the fact that the Gotei of today sent six bankai-users in case he needs to be subdued… he doesn’t like the answer these two points add up to.

Kisuke turns on his heel and drops into the basement instead, heading for his lab.

Zangetsu or not, a fountain of reiatsu or not, Ichigo is going to have to rely on his reiatsu to keep himself in the air. He’s never going to out-manoeuvre someone with the dual advantage of wings and having thirty-odd years of experience with those wings.

Not unless Kisuke can even those odds a little, that is.

His lab is dark, but Kisuke navigates it with the ease of familiarity, reaching the far wall at the end without any difficulty. Benihime taps out a near-forgotten rhythm on the wall, and a section of it slides smoothly out.

Kisuke winces at the screech of long-unoiled hinges, but pushes gamely on. Here he does need a light, if only to make sure he doesn’t accidentally knock anything over. Even he doesn’t remember what manner of fevered inventions he had carelessly piled upon the shelves here.

The wings, however… those, he does remember. And as he turns another corner, he sees them hanging on a wall, far more pristine than the day he left them. It must be Tessai’s handiwork; the place is far neater than Kisuke would have expected of himself.

He reaches out, stroking his fingers over the nearest feathers. They’re a soft brown, the colour of maple leaves in the fall, made in a time when the sight of green had still been too hard to bear. The crackle of a stasis ward falling apart startles him, and he can’t help but laugh ruefully, shaking his hand to ease the sting.

His old friend has always known him better than he knew himself.

In truth, Kisuke hasn’t thought of these mechanical wings in decades, not since he became used to having to forcing his soul into that tiny wingless gigai that sapped away at his reiatsu and curtailed his movements. But for those first few decades after the Hollowfication, back when the threat of being discovered and dragged back for execution was all too real, Kisuke had felt so smothered by that gigai he could choke on it.

Hence, mechanical wings. Pre-charged with reiatsu, these were designed to permit flight in a body that for all intents and purposes had neither wings nor reiatsu. Their only fatal flaw had been that Kisuke had never been able to completely dampen their reiatsu output, and his longing for the sky did not quite outweigh his desire to live.

It’s not a flaw that would matter now.

The wings fold neatly, exactly the way they were designed to, and Kisuke cradles them to his chest with one arm as he sets off to where Ichigo’s reiatsu is blazing bright against the night sky.

* * *

Ichigo is not having a very good day.

No, scratch that, it’s been an _awful_ day, what with all his friends getting brainwashed and getting stabbed in the back, and now the bastard who’s been stalking his family is flinging Ichigo’s own techniques at him.

Ichigo hadn’t even _known_ he had any reiatsu left to steal.

And now, he’s beaten Ginjō to the ground at least half a dozen times, even without the benefit of being able to fly, but each time the bastard just gets up, somehow stronger than before. He has a new appreciation for Renji and the rest now. This must be how they felt when he invaded Soul Society.

To top things off, the bastard Ishida had the audacity to tell _him_ that he doesn’t have a plan, that he was just “analysing Ginjō’s reiatsu”, whatever that meant.

Urahara-san would have had a plan, he thinks uncharitably as he ducks under another Getsuga Tenshō. Probably two to three plans.

But Urahara isn’t here in this make-believe dimension with him, and so he has to make do with Ishida.

Or, maybe…

Ichigo eyes the false sky contemplatively. He hasn’t met something he can’t break through with enough reiatsu yet, and he’s absolutely _full_ of reiatsu right now.

He takes a deep breath and swings.

“GETSUGA TENSHŌ!”

It’s satisfying, really, to see Ginjō’s eyes widen in pure shock for once as the false dimension breaks apart around him. Ichigo really doesn’t think he can control this, since it’s not his power to begin with, and there’s no way Tōshirō will lose to that Gameboy-toting kid.

At least something’s going right.

Reiatsu signatures blaze into existence all around him, and Ichigo does a quick headcount without turning his head.

Six. Everyone’s already done with their fights, just as he expects.

No, wait.

A seventh signature is threading its way through the trees, so faint that Ichigo would’ve missed it if it isn’t for his familiarity with it.

What’s Urahara doing?

“Hey,” he calls over to Ishida. “Keep him busy for a bit, will you?”

Ichigo ignores Ishida’s protests with the ease of habit, dropping into his fastest shunpo. Even then, he narrowly misses a Getsuga Tenshō to the head, and has to swerve around a copse of trees.

A crimson shield catches the backlash, directing it away from them, and Ichigo nods at Urahara.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Faint or not, there’s no way he would’ve picked up Urahara’s reiatsu of all people, if the man isn’t intentionally broadcasting.

Urahara nods. There’s something that looks like a brown cloak draped over his arms, which Ichigo can only guess is some new device meant to give him an edge over Ginjō. Where did Urahara even find the _time_ to make this, in-between getting all of Ichigo’s friends to safety and healing Inoue and Chad?

He opens his mouth to ask, and then –

It’s not a cloak.

“They’re programmed to respond like real wings, so you can control them by moving your back muscles,” Urahara says, over the thundering noise in Ichigo’s ears. “There’s a time limit, but it should be more than enough for you to take care of Ginjō-san –”

Urahara, he – he made him –

Ichigo lunges forward and kisses him straight on the mouth.

It’s clumsy, uncoordinated; Ichigo barely manages to avoid smashing their noses together, but somehow he manages to make it work at the last moment. Urahara makes a noise, like he wants to say something, but he can’t really enunciate with Ichigo’s tongue in his mouth.

“KUROSAKI, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!”

Ichigo jerks back, and he _feels_ the wings flare out behind him, responding exactly the way Urahara said they would.

“I – I need to…”

He grits his teeth, turns around resolutely, and takes a running leap back into the fray.

He doesn’t think about the fact that although Kisuke didn’t pull away, he also didn’t kiss him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy winter solstice to everyone.
> 
> Resolution + Epilogue + DVD extras will be posted in 2019

**Author's Note:**

> Updates erratically because unlike every other one of my fics, this one is unplanned.
> 
> [cywscross's UraIchi Discord server](https://discordapp.com/invite/ADFnKTZ#_=_) | [Starrie's fic sneak preview server](https://discord.gg/8yJVmbD) | [Tumblr](http://starriewolf.tumblr.com)


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